


Cyclone Soul

by gilligankane



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-27
Updated: 2009-11-27
Packaged: 2017-11-17 09:41:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/550208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gilligankane/pseuds/gilligankane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ten song-drabbles for Faberry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cyclone Soul

**CAPITOL PILL / LA ROCCA**    
 _You can be my silent type, / Baby, those pauses can make my night / Please keep your sweet lips closed tight_    
 **SEASON 1**

As long as Rachel doesn’t say anything, as long as she just keeps quiet and doesn’t say a single word, Quinn Fabray could easily fall in love with Rachel Berry.

Because Rachel Berry is loyal and driven and  _strong_  and Quinn is none of those things – she betrays Glee, she gives up on Finn and then Puck and then Finn and then Puck again, and she cries  _all the time_. Rachel is the person she thought she would be when she grew up: comfortable in her own skin and thoughtful and usually doing things with the best of intentions.

Quinn tries to be friends with Rachel and its easy enough if Rachel doesn’t open her mouth. If she just sits there and smiles and holds Quinn’s hand when Quinn needs a hero – not that they’ve done that, because Quinn Fabray isn’t interested, at this time in her life, in committing social suicide any more than she already has – then Rachel Berry is exactly the type of person Quinn could fall in love with.

She purses her lips and checks her reflection in the mirror, because over her right shoulder, she can see Rachel putting her books in her locker and pulling more things out, trying to balance her history book and her lunch while taking off her argyle sweater. Quinn takes inventory of the hallway, decides it’s safe and approaches cautiously, grabbing the brown lunch bag before it nosedives out of Rachel’s arms.

When Rachel goes to say  _“thank you”_  Quinn shakes her head violently.

If she says  _“thank you”_  it’ll be followed by a barrage of words that Quinn won’t understand, and even if sometimes, it’s cute, she’s been nauseous all day and not exactly in the mood.

“You’re welcome,” she mouths and Rachel nods slowly, smiling gently when Quinn’s hand traces an invisible line from Rachel’s temple to her chin.

So maybe even if Rachel talked a little bit, but only a little, like one word every few hours, Quinn Fabray could quickly, and desperately, fall in love with Rachel Berry.   
  
\--- 

 **HONESTY / BILLY JOEL**    
 _But I don't want some pretty face / To tell me pretty lies / All I want is someone to believe_    
 **1.07 THROWDOWN**

Finn finally lets her go – partially because she tenses after a while and mostly because he has to go the bathroom and the second his arms unwrap from her shoulders, she escapes to the first room she can find that’s empty and tries to catch her breath.

“Did you want me to leave?” Quinn feels Rachel’s voice echo off the walls and her heart stops for a moment.

“Uh,” she starts, searching for the right words. No insults come to her; no witty one-liners. Words stick in the back of her throat and her mind goes blank. “No,” she finally croaks, “You can stay.”

She makes for the door, but Rachel clears her throat and Quinn turns back to watch the brunette squirm at the piano bench.

“What?”

“You can too,” Rachel says softly. “Stay, I mean,” she adds. Quinn stares at Rachel stupidly, blinking a few times before she walks over to the raisers and sits down gingerly. “I’m going to be singing, if you don’t mind.”

Quinn doesn’t, because she just wants the normalcy. She doesn’t want Finn making sad cow eyes at her or Puck sneering, so if Rachel just wants to sing, Quinn doesn’t mind much at all. “Su-sure,” she stutters, her hands clutching the edge of her uniform. “Blow me away,” she says, but it doesn’t hold any bite or anger or sarcasm, and Rachel smiles at it – not a full smile, which Quinn is grateful for, because she can’t handle that either, but a small little lift of the corner of Rachel’s mouth is a good start.

Rachel opens her mouth and Quinn steadies herself for the first note, but Rachel snaps her teeth together instead. “I just want you to know-”

“Rachel,” Quinn growls, but the brunette lifts her hands in surrender.

“It’s not going to be okay,” Rachel says. Quinn’s forehead pulls together and Rachel rushes on. “I don’t mean to be rude, but you’re a pregnant 16-year-old and nothing is going to be same again. But it will be fine, eventually. Not now, not tomorrow, but someday. And when that day comes, you’ll have people.” Rachel looks at the papers on the piano. “That’s all I wanted to say,” she whispers.

Rachel says everything that Finn wouldn’t say – the truth – and for a moment, as she launches into some musical composition Quinn has never heard before, Rachel Berry becomes the only person Quinn needs.   
  
\--- 

 **GET AWAY (HERE WE GO AGAIN) / WAKEY!WAKEY!**    
 _She’s got a cyclone soul / And I need to get away_    
 **1.05 THE RHODES NOT TAKEN**

“You quit Glee.” It’s a statement, not a question, and Rachel is almost grateful, because if Quinn had asked, Rachel isn’t sure what her answer would be.

Well, clearly, it would be  _“yes”_  but then Quinn would stare at her and expect a follow-up to it, because Quinn  _always_  expects her to do that. But with Quinn not asking, and just sort of reminding her – in case, you know, she suddenly forgot that she quit one of the only things that gave her a reason to get up and force herself into school every day – it’s easier to just nod and smile like it’s nothing.

“You quit  _Glee_.”

“Yes, thank you, Quinn.” Quinn moves to block the door, hands on her hips.

“What the hell are you thinking, Rachel?”  _Rachel_ , not Manhands, or RuPaul, or Smurfette; just Rachel, and Rachel can see – in Quinn’s eyes and body language – that she’s actually upset about this.

“Well, I was thinking this was best for everyone. I get to expand my career – a one woman show? That’s every performer’s dream. And you get Glee.” Rachel glares for a moment. “We all win.”

“Mr. Schuester is devastated.” Quinn hesitates before she speaks again. “And so is Finn.”

Rachel shrugs. “Then you’re happy, right? So I don’t understand what the problem is.”

“You. Quit. Glee,” Quinn growls. “That’s the problem.”

“Quinn,” Rachel says lowly, leaning forward. “I want you to listen, very clearly, to what I’m saying.” She pauses. “You’re a vapid, vapid girl. You have no future, extending past your glory days, that is. But me? I have dreams and I will take every opportunity provided to achieve those dreams. You’re a roadblock on my path to stardom, Quinn Fabray, and while I hate to lose Glee to  _you_ , sacrifices need to be made. I’ll be going places, someday. The only place you’ll go from here is down. And you’re going to drag everyone within reaching distance down with you.”

Quinn blinks a few times but Rachel remains still, strong in the face of potential bodily harm.

“So while I regret leaving Glee behind to pursue other ventures, I don’t regret leaving you or Finn and your group of plastic-faced people behind, in the least.” She puts her hands on her hips, mirroring Quinn’s stance. “I refuse to go down with your sinking ship.”

It doesn’t feel as good as she thought it would, telling Quinn off, but she gets a little added burst of satisfaction when the auditorium door slams shut behind her.   
  
\---

 **I'M ON FIRE (BRUCE SPRINGSTEEN COVER) / TORI AMOS**    
 _Hey little girl is your daddy home / Did he go and leave you all alone, un huh / I got a bad desire_    
 **FUTURE!DRABBLE**

Elizabeth answers the door, pulling it open a crack, small brown eyes peering out onto the front stoop. The door slams shut and then opens widely.

“Rachel!” Elizabeth shrieks, launching into Rachel’s arms and hugging hard.

Rachel, pushing her hair out of her eyes, laughs into Elizabeth’s hair and ends up with her mouth full, but smiling regardless. She looks up when she hears footsteps and there’s Quinn, smiling softly and tapping her foot. Elizabeth turns in Rachel’s arms, still wrapped around Rachel’s neck, and smiles her wide Puck-smile at her mother.

“Mom, look who’s here!”

Quinn, unlike Rachel, doesn’t wince at the pitch of Elizabeth’s voice. “I see that, baby. Why don’t you let go of Rachel and run upstairs? You can show her the new CD your Uncle bought you.” Elizabeth is wriggling out of Rachel’s arms before Quinn is done speaking, racing up the stairs – slowly, because the steps are steep and her little legs don’t take her as far as she keeps hoping they will – leaving Quinn and Rachel in hallway silence.

“The best of  _Modern Divas_ ,” Quinn explains, rolling her eyes. “Kurt thought it was an ‘essential’ Christmas gift.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here for the holidays,” Rachel says lowly. Quinn shrugs, but her eyes say  _“I gave up on waiting for you to come around”_  and it stings a little.

“Puck was.” The sting starts to burn at those words.

Rachel doesn’t remember shutting the door – the actual act of reaching behind herself and pushing it until the lock catches – but she crosses the distance between in three steps, the next half step bringing her so close to Quinn that she can feel Quinn’s breath against the skin between her cheek and her smile, and she’s leaning up and tilting her head back, kissing Quinn’s frown away.

Quinn whimpers into her mouth, hands moving automatically to Rachel’s waist, pulling out the tucked-in shirt and sliding her hands across Rachel’s flat stomach, feeling the muscles ripple under her touch. She pushes forward a little and Rachel’s entire body pushes back against her in all the right places. Rachel feels her back hit the wall – a dull thud of a noise – and a thin, firm thigh slips between her legs, pressing up. Something like a low moan rumbles up her throat and out of her mouth as her head falls back, Quinn’s mouth following, tracing the curve of her neck.

“I missed you,” she whispers, the sentence cracking in the middle when Quinn bites down on her collarbone, then soothes the burning sensation with her tongue. “God, I missed you.” Quinn’s hand slides up, touching the underside of her breast, but before she can move any higher, loud footsteps start at the top of the stairs and Quinn pulls back, breathing heavy.

Rachel pulls Quinn forward by her belt loops and kisses her quickly as Elizabeth rounds the banister, running at the mouth about Uncle Kurt and why he says she has to listen to this CD once a day, for feminists sake. Rachel laughs, an honest laugh, because Elizabeth – at seven – can’t actually say _“feminist”_  and Quinn has to intercede on her daughter’s behalf.

“Are you staying forever?” Elizabeth asks, her Quinn-eyes wide and eager.

Quinn shushes her, but Rachel grabs the little girl around the waist and hoists her onto her hip, poking her in the nose.

“A while, at least,” she says, more to Quinn than to Elizabeth, but Elizabeth whoops anyway.

Quinn gives her a side-smile and announces that when they stop being crazy – because they’re making faces at each other again, the way they always do when Rachel comes back – they can come into the kitchen; Quinn’s finishing cookie batter and says she’ll let them make any shape they want.   
  
\---

 **SAD EYES / BRUCE SPRINGSTEEN**    
 _Well for a while I've been watching you steady / Ain't gonna move 'til you're good and ready / You show up and then you shy away / But I know pretty soon you'll be walkin' this way / Sad eyes never lie_    
 **AU**

She’s not entirely sure how to approach the girl with the sad, hazel eyes, but Rachel thinks about it a lot. She thinks about smiling, saying something witty, getting the blond to laugh, or even just sitting down and offering to listen, but every time she gets up the nerve, all she can do is slide over to the booth and ask if she’ll have the “same” today: the “same” is what Quinn – because Rachel peeked once, at the receipts  _Quinn_  was organizing, she couldn’t help it – has gotten every morning for the past year: one egg, one piece of toast, the side of mushy fruit and a cup of black coffee.

She thinks about sliding across the vinyl with her own cup of coffee, right about the time when they’re switching the breakfast settings for the lunch ware, and just jumping into a conversation, as if it’s something they do all the time. Rachel could talk about her dads and how they used to tell her she could be anything she wanted to be, and that’s why she came to New York, but she got this waitress job as a way to make money in between auditions and now she’s just stuck in a rut. Or she could talk about Lima and the guy she had an eternal crush on in high school named Finn Hudson who ended up running off to San Francisco with his best friend Noah and the last she heard, they were living blissfully in The Bay Area.

Maybe she could even get Quinn to talk about the picture she’s always folding open and closed; about the little girl in the picture who looks exactly like Quinn. Maybe she could slide a fresh cup across the table and Quinn would take it, laughing and smiling about Rachel being so perceptive – which she is; she learned to be – and they would just talk about everything and anything.

She thinks about these things all the time, because Quinn has the saddest eyes she’s ever seen. She knows they’re probably the prettiest, but they’re so dark and unfocused and  _lost_  that Rachel falls in even deeper without even trying and after serving Quinn three consecutive mornings, she’s hooked.

From her perch on the stool at the end of the counter, she can see that Quinn’s coffee has drained past the “refill” mark, so she grabs the steaming coffee pot and comes to stop in front of Quinn’s booth, tipping the carafe. As the mug fills with dark, murky liquid, Rachel raises her eyes and catches Quinn’s gaze.

She smiles and after a beat, Quinn’s mouth quirks upward, then all but slams back down into a thin, set line.

Rachel thinks it’s a start.   
  
\---

 **EVERYTHING I ONCE HAD / THE HONORARY TITLE**    
 _Anyone is suitable for you I guess / You were a phase / It's over with_    
 **1.08 MASH-UP**

She mostly lets Puck manhandle her because of Quinn. She knows, even before she invites him into her room and lets him play his guitar for her, that he’s completely in lust with Quinn, and she thinks they might be able to help each other out.

Rachel isn’t sure how to really say  _“so we were both used by the same girl and we’re both emotionally scarred by it, so let’s be scarred together”_  but she figures her hands wandering across his abs might be a good start, and he seems to agree because he shifts a little against her and there he is.

When she does pull back, she has to wait a moment for her eyes to clear, because she thinks – for one brief, delusional moment – that it’s  _Quinn_ wriggling beneath her, and when the smoke is gone, it’s really Puck leering up at her with that  _“oh, I’m totally going to get laid”_  smile she’s heard so much about.

“This isn’t about them,” she feels the need to say, half-expecting him not to get it.

Except that Puck, for all the times he’s been hit in the head without a helmet on, has surprisingly good common sense and he nods, suddenly shy and looking vulnerable. “Not for me. At least,” he adds, “not anymore.”

Rachel bites her bottom lip and takes a deep breath, his hands contracting and expanding along with her ribcage. He’s telling the truth – she can tell, by the way he actually looks her in the eyes – and there’s a block of guilt that lands heavily on her shoulders, because she is.

She’s lying.

This  _is_  about them; specifically, it’s about Quinn.

Quinn ditched her – because it was immoral; because Finn didn’t deserve that kind of behavior, anymore; because none of it made sense; because Quinn was full of bullshit – and its left Rachel angry, confused, distraught, hungry for revenge, and horny as hell.

Puck takes care of two of those things, at least. Rachel will get to feel good, Quinn will get her “golden dream,” Puck will get off, Finn will get to keep being the oblivious idiot Rachel’s begun to see him as, and everything will be fine.

Puck kisses her – hard, slobbery, with too much confidence – and it’s nothing like the way Quinn  _used to_  kiss her, but it’s kissing and that’s enough for Rachel right now.

The next time she sees Quinn, she hopes the blond figures it all out, and Rachel hopes it hurts when she does.   
  
\---

 **YOU'RE GONNA GO FAR, KID / THE OFFSPRING**    
 _With a thousand lies and a good disguise / Hit 'em right between the eyes_    
 **1.07 THROWDOWN**

Despite what everyone thinks, she feels  _awful_  about selling the Glee kids out. More so than before, because before, she wasn’t in a janitor’s closet with Rachel Berry’s hand down her pants and before all that, it was just a little bit easier to do the whole betrayal thing. She wasn’t “personally invested” before this Rachel-thing. 

Before, she was just making their lives miserable, but then Rachel had to go and  _smile_  at her and she just couldn’t stop her body from reacting the way it did – she couldn’t stop her hands from grabbing Rachel’s sweater; couldn’t stop her mouth from muffling Rachel’s inevitable shriek; couldn’t stop her thigh from sliding against the smooth skin of Rachel’s leg.

If ever asked, she’ll blame it on the hormones.

Right now, though, Rachel’s wrist dips down, angles a little more, and then she pushes back up, sending Quinn’s back up and against the concrete wall. She can feel the skin of her shoulder blades and only imagines the skin is raw and red, but Rachel is swallowing her gasp and Quinn is pushing her tongue against the back of her teeth so that she doesn’t do something stupid like actually, honest-to-God  _kiss_  Rachel Berry. A peck on the mouth or even a slower, softer kiss – it doesn’t really mean anything. But if she lets herself give in and slip her tongue into Rachel’s mouth, this becomes something entirely different.

It becomes something  _else_  she’s guilty about.

“You’re a star, Q.” Mrs. Sylvester’s voice echoes in her head, bouncing off all the empty space she has in there and Rachel starts sucking on her pulse point. Quinn’s on her tip-toes, whimpering and instead of thinking about how  _right_  Rachel’s body feels to Quinn’s hands as she maps out every curve and dip, all she can think about is the way Sue looked at her as she explained what she wanted Quinn to do.

Pride and Sue’s personal version of affection and awe – coming from Sue Sylvester, it’s like winning a Grammy, a Tony, an Emmy and never having to pay health care insurance all rolled into one.

“You’re going to be great someday, Quinn,” Sue had said as she touched the tips of her fingers to her mouth again and again. “You’re going to go far, kid.”

Rachel pushes hard – once – and Quinn feels tiny explosions move their way from her toes to her fingers and then Rachel is letting go, removing her hand from Quinn’s skirt and using her free, clean hand to tuck a strand of hair behind Quinn’s ear.

Quinn smacks Rachel’s hand away, then grabs it when Rachel’s smile fades exceedingly quick. She pulls Rachel’s fingertips to her mouth and kisses each one.

“I’ll see you around,” she says, slipping out of the closet.

Down the hall, Ms. Sylvester nods at her proudly and gives her a thumbs-up.   
  
\--- 

 **CONFESSIONS / CITY AND COLOUR**    
 _My verdict has come in, it says I'm guilty for my sins this time, / I thought I could escape, but then I finally felt the weight of my crimes / This is passion, it's not love, infatuation never ends up right, / At least I won't be alone tonight,_    
 **1.10 BALLAD**

When she’s sure Finn is asleep – and Mrs. Hudson went to bed hours ago – she pulls on her jeans, leaving them unbuttoned because she’s too weary to force them, and slips on her shoes. Easing the door closed behind her, she cuts through the backyard, and finds the sidewalk on the other side of the house behind Finn’s. She’s not sure where she’s going, but when she ends up in front of Rachel’s she’s only half-surprised.

From the front walk, she can see Rachel’s dad Phil in the kitchen, occasionally lifting papers and moving them around. Rachel’s room is lit, so the brunette must be awake. She moves before she can think about it, she’s climbing the trestle, one rung at a time.

Rachel is standing in the middle of the room, completely still, staring at herself in the mirror. Quinn taps twice against the window and Rachel jumps, spinning around with wide eyes. When she spots Quinn, she slaps a hand over where her heart is and sighs.

“Quinn,” she admonishes, hiking the window open. “You scared me.”

“Sorry,” she says, but she’s not sorry at all. Climbing into the room, she brushes off her jeans and perches on the windowsill. “Couldn’t sleep. What are you doing up, anyway?”

“It’s Daddy’s bar exam tomorrow. We all decided to stay up and do a review tonight, on shifts, of course. My shift starts in an hour,” Rachel explains, moving everything on the dresser, Quinn assumes, precisely half an inch. “Why can’t you sleep?”

Except Quinn doesn’t want to talk about how heavy her conscious feels because it causes a pulsing in the back of her head, by the base of her skull and it makes her sick to her stomach. What she does want is someone to hold her. Specifically, she wants Rachel to hold her.

Rachel doesn’t hold too tight, but her arms wrap around Quinn’s waist in a way that makes Quinn feel  _wanted_ ; Rachel doesn’t let her go when Quinn pushes out of the hug, because she knows Quinn doesn’t want o be let go of.

It’s like Rachel knows what Quinn wants and needs and she’s the only who does; not Puck or Finn or any nameless face she could find.

“I know you have to be up in an hour-”

“Fifty-seven minutes,” Rachel cuts in.

Quinn hides the small smile on her face. “Right, fifty-seven minutes. Well, do you think we could lie down for fifty-seven minutes?” Her voice is small and hesitant, but Rachel smiles widely and kicks off her slippers. Quinn unlaces her sneakers and crawls onto the left side of the bed –  _her_  side – waiting for Rachel.

“We can’t fall asleep,” Rachel reminds her, turning over to that her forehead is pressed against Quinn’s.

Quinn nods and lets her eyes slide shut, her legs tangling with Rachel’s. “We won’t,” she promises, lifting her head just a little, catching Rachel’s bottom lip between her own.

She snuggles closer to Rachel, burying her face in Rachel’s neck, inhaling her perfume, and it calms her racing heart, even if only for a moment.   
  
\---

 **HUMAN / JON MCLAUGHLIN**    
 _Can we get back to the point of this conversation, / When we saw things through each others eyes,_    
 **AU**

Rachel finds Quinn crying in the bathroom, red slushie dripping from the ends of her hair. The brunette leans forward over the sink, checking her make-up, sighing heavily when Quinn sniffles. 

“What’s your damage?”

Quinn looks up and frowns, because really, if Rachel can’t see that the  _slushie_  coating her face is what’s bothering her, maybe the head Cheerio has been using too much hairspray.

“Oh come on, Fabray, it’s just a little slushie. It’ll wash out,” Rachel says lightly.

“Do you get a kick out of this?” Quinn asks in a small voice. Rachel, halfway to the door, turns on her heel, her red skirt swishing around her hips. “Hurting me, I mean.”

“Listen,” Rachel sighs, resting her hands on her hips. “It’s just the social hierarchy, okay? If you were me, you’d be prancing down these hallways directing slushie drops everywhere. I mean, you’re not even  _helping_  yourself. Glee club? Really? You’re just  _asking_  for a social suicide.”

Quinn pulls an ice chuck out of her hair and throws it into the sink, watching the crystals break into a hundred tiny pieces, melting quickly. Rachel sighs again –  _God,_  Quinn thinks,  _is that all she does?_  – and comes back to the sinks, catching Quinn’s gaze in the mirror’s reflection.

“Let me help,” Rachel whispers gently, lifting a curtain of Quinn’s blond hair, letting it fall through her fingers. Weighed down with corn syrup, it slaps against her shoulder, staining her t-shirt – which is really already stained a different color. “Pass me that paper towel,” she continues, voice still a soft whisper, pointing at the towel Quinn is clutching in her hands.

Shaking, Quinn passes it back over her shoulder and watches through the mirror as Rachel wipes away the crystal, pulling them out in sections.

“I would have ruined you, you know,” Quinn mutters, ducking her head.

When she looks back up, Rachel, her Cheerios uniform plastered to her body, the tiniest sliver of skin visible between the top of the skirt and the bottom of the top, smiles softly.

Rachel nods once. “I know.”   
  
\--- 

 **I KEEP MINE HIDDEN / THE SMITHS**    
 _Ooh, I keep mine hidden / The lies are so easy for you / Because you let yours slide / Into public view_    
 **1.02 SHOWMANCE with a side of AU**

When she shouts  _“big, gay beard!”_  at Finn, she inwardly cringes.  _Wrong choice of words, Fabray._

Finn cringes too, stamps his foot and storms down the hallway and Quinn resists the urge to laugh out loud. Finn is a child stuck in the body of a giant oaf-like creature.

“Isn’t that the other way around?” Rachel asks from behind her. Quinn doesn’t jump at the sound of her voice, but the smile she was holding back widens and by the time she turns to face Rachel, she’s grinning.

“What would you know about that?”

She can see the beginning of some smartass response on the tip of Rachel’s tongue – because when she’s not being completely  _annoying_  Rachel is just as witty and snarky as Quinn, if not more so – but she counteracts it by flipping her hair over her shoulder and looking back at Rachel pointedly, striding into the girl’s bathroom.

Rachel is half a step behind, sliding the lock on the cubicle as soon as they’re both inside, pushing Quinn against the wall side.

“I know a lot of things about that, actually,” Rachel whispers, her teeth nipping at Quinn’s earlobe. “But you could take of that, you know, if you just gave him up.”

Quinn pushes at Rachel’s shoulders and Rachel groans, rolling off to the the side, dropping her head back against the metal wall. “Quinn-”

“You know,” Quinn hisses, cutting off the inevitable apology. “I can’t do that,” Quinn continues. “I’m head Cheerio. And president of The Chastity Club-”

“And you’re sleeping with  _me_. Who happens to be a girl. So just dump Finn already, okay?” Rachel’s eyes are eager and filled with so much need that Quinn looks away, focusing on the crude drawing of a badly proportioned Rachel etched onto the cubicle. “I’ll ditch Santana and we can just  _be_  together.”

Rachel has offered a thousand times since they’ve started this,  _affair_ , they began: she’ll leave Santana if Quinn will get rid of Finn.

Several parts of Quinn flare up, every time Rachel makes this offer. First, the part where she wants to scream  _“yes”_  at the top of her lung; then there’s the part that feels terrible about doing this to Finn; another part of her feels even worse for doing this to Santana – her friend; yet another part of her just wants Rachel to kiss her, say that sneaking around is sexy, and fuck her in the bathroom.

“You already know my answer,” Quinn whispers, trailing a finger from the corner of Rachel’s frown to behind her neck, hooking her hand around the curve of muscle and pulling Rachel to her.

Rachel kisses her briefly, then pulls back. “Doesn’t stop me from asking,” she says sadly.

When she sees Rachel in the hallway, hand in hand with Santana, Quinn frowns and mutters  _“gross”_  under her breath and takes a secret satisfaction in Rachel’s eyes and how they aren’t as bright as they are when she’s with Quinn.


End file.
